


Cast Me Gently Into Morning

by edenbound



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22665172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Aziraphale kissed him, and now Crowley is shaking, and Aziraphale has to figure out why.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 241





	Cast Me Gently Into Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sarah McLachlan's "Answer":
> 
> _Cast me gently into morning  
>  For the night has been unkind  
> Take me to a place so holy  
> That I can wash this from my mind  
> The memory of choosing not to fight_

Aziraphale's not sure quite when he becomes aware of it. Crowley drove him home from the Ritz, and he made Crowley come in, and now -- now he's kissing Crowley, and it's transcendent: his heart is racing and his skin is singing and his body is alive with it everywhere they touch, even through their muffling clothes, and as far as he's concerned there might be bells and trumpets and great bursting fireworks and everything that speaks of triumph and victory and release from fear. But --

But Crowley is shaking, almost imperceptibly at first, but it grows under Aziraphale's hands. He pulls away. "Dearest," he says, softly. "Are you afraid?"

"No," Crowley says, tugging at him, bringing their mouths together again. Aziraphale wants so much to just accept that, to sink back into kissing Crowley, into the euphoria and wonder of it. But --

"You're shaking." He puts his hands on Crowley's shoulders, firm, holds him at arm's length. "What's wrong?"

"It's not -- that's not -- angel, can't you just shut up and kiss me? Now we've finally got here? Can you just trust me?"

Aziraphale considers it for a moment. It would be... easy, to take Crowley's word. And it's true that he owes Crowley some trust, now, some consideration. But this distrust isn't a lack of loyalty, and he thinks that to blithely accept this -- whatever it is -- would be to betray Crowley in a deeper way, betray the truth of Crowley that hardly anyone is ever allowed to see. So: "No, dearest. I need to know," he says, but gently, and with his hands still there on Crowley's shoulders; anchoring him, grounding him. Never looking away.

"Ugh," Crowley mumbles, fumbling for his sunglasses to put them on again. Aziraphale drops a hand from his shoulder and takes the fidgeting hand in his.

"Dearest, look at me." Reluctantly, the golden eyes meet his, and he breathes out a sigh of relief. "Can you tell me? Please? I need to know that you're... alright."

"I'm fine," he says, automatically, and then heaves out a sigh of his own. Aziraphale moves closer to him, takes him into his arms, and Crowley... melts into it, leans into Aziraphale, angling toward him like -- like a flower toward the sun, and it's cliché, but it's true, and Aziraphale _feels_ like the sun, blazing with love, with everything he feels for Crowley, whose forehead is now pressed into his shoulder, who is still shaking ever so slightly and whose love is overwhelming him, all-encompassing and terrifyingly unconditional. He knows that Crowley can't sense everything he's feeling for him in return, so he just... he says it.

"I love you," he says, into the unexpected softness of Crowley's hair. Crowley makes a noise, almost a gulp, and squeezes his eyes shut tightly as he speaks.

"I love you too. And I'm not afraid, I'm not -- I'd never be afraid of you, and if you decided to blast me into pieces with heavenly wrath it would only be what I deserve -- don't interrupt, angel, please, I can only do this once. I'm not afraid, not really, it's just been a very long time since... Well, I don't remember the last time -- demons don't touch each other, that's all, we just don't, not ever, not unless we're trying to hurt one another. And I have no interest in humans, and you've never -- it's never been like this before, so I just -- "

"You're starving for it." Aziraphale's heart overflows with sorrow and love, and he tightens his arms around Crowley. "You need it so badly. And I haven't been... I haven't given you much cause to trust me."

Crowley startles up then, making Aziraphale give him some room so their eyes can meet again. "I trust you. Of course I trust you. There wouldn't be any point if I couldn't trust you."

"But I -- "

"I could trust you when it counted," Crowley says, firmly, and Aziraphale knows it isn't true, but Crowley needs it, needs to believe it so badly. And is it so bad to acquiesce, when he knows it will be true from now on? When he is beholden to no one but himself and Crowley and God, as it should always have been? He puts aside thoughts of Heaven, of divided loyalties, and looks at Crowley, cups Crowley's face in both his hands. God never forbade this, though She surely knew what was in his heart all these years. And the way things turned out, well, it's almost as if it's -- as if they're meant --

"You can," he affirms. "You can trust me. I'm here now, and always. Where I should be."

Crowley is still shaking against him when he gathers him back in to kiss him again, and there are perhaps tears in his eyes, but he is also smiling and so is Aziraphale, and in some corner of his mind he is sure that Someone whispers, in benediction: _Well done, Aziraphale._


End file.
